Truce
Chapter Six

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


For a moment, Scully felt her heart skip a beat;
Mulder wasn't behind her.  It was as if he'd
disappeared into thin air once again, and her
legs trembled with the need to backtrack, to
find him in the maze of rooms off the central
hallway.  Then he appeared from around the far
corner, his half-smile speaking of his
satisfaction at having her stay for the midday
meal.  Though it was fast approaching three in
the afternoon, she hadn't felt hungry at all. 
Not for food, anyway.

Mulder stopped a few inches shy of her personal
space, his earnest, "I'm glad you're staying,"
rumbling through her body with the caress of a
gentle wave.  His gaze burned where it touched
her face, asking for more than her company at
the table, something she knew he wouldn't pursue
this afternoon.  She wasn't ready, that much was
true.  But to say she didn't crave his presence
would be a downright lie.

Her near breakdown back in the study, combined
with the urge to flee all the harsh words, still
upset her, and she welcomed the simple
distraction of lunch.  Even with Mulder's sure
questions about the details of the operation,
she hoped their next conversation would be much
simpler than the near war they'd narrowly
averted.  Skinner and Kersh would be livid if
they knew she'd seen Mulder, much less told him
what was going down in New Orleans.

But Mulder wasn't going to sit still while she
roamed the city, that much was certain.  And it
was inevitable that he would want to be involved
on every level, professionally and personally. 
For someone who'd never so much as cowered
before a demanding military father, she had to
admit to herself that this dilemma made her
anxious.

The complication of their personal lives would
have to be neatly tucked away for the duration. 
It was going to be difficult; she wasn't sure
her heart could stand another separation if
things didn't turn out for the best.  Keep him
at arm's length, she told herself.

But how to do that?  Once the details of the
operation were made known to him, he was sure to
realize that the most important goal for her was
to have him back.  Knowing Mulder as she did,
she knew he'd play on that, worming his way into
her heart and bed with just a touch of his hand. 
Much as she wanted it - yes, it hadn't taken but
a few minutes in his presence for the old
yearning to take hold - it was very dangerous
for them to succumb to the distraction of sex. 
All she had to do was remember the last time
they'd done so, in that hotel room in Phoenix. 
They'd almost paid the price with their lives
that time; she couldn't chance it again.

She'd have to divert him somehow, cool his
ardor.  She could do it... after all, she'd kept
herself from him for years, hadn't she?  Even
after one taste of sexual bliss that first time
in New Orleans, she'd found the strength to
forget the slide of his body over hers, the drag
of his mouth in places that tingled for hours
later.  She would be strong, be firm.

Her good intentions lasted all of one second, as
he wrapped his fingers around her elbow to guide
her along the hall.  The frisson of sexual
awareness set every nerve afire, his clean scent
wafting over her like a warm memory.  She should
have gently pulled away, but found she could
not.  Instead, she allowed him to set their slow
pace, telling herself it was just this once.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

It was a mistake to lift her eyes to his; the
innocent query in his gaze swiftly turned to
something altogether more sensual, as his words
took on a deeper meaning.  God, she was so
hungry for him she doubted that fifty years with
him could assuage the need.  But she blinked
away the contact between them, schooling her
voice with as little emotion as possible.

"Not very.  I had a late breakfast."

Mulder's eyes darkened and he looked away.  She
could tell from the way his hand tightened on
her arm that he'd misinterpreted her statement. 
Before her inner debate ended on whether or not
she should clarify - there had been no other but
him - he stopped at a heavy, ornate door.

Which happened to lead to a massive room filled
with trophy animals and guns of every size and
shape locked in ancient cabinets.  Mulder
sheepishly cocked a brow at Scully, backing them
both from the room, backing himself into his
usual, deflecting humor.  "Uh... would you
believe I've never seen that room before?"

"Yes." She embraced his humor, letting her eyes
twinkle.  Not just from his stumbling, but from
her happiness at the way he'd removed the
underlying edge from the past few moments.

"Marvin bought the place." A fleeting relief
crossed his face when he opened the next door to
find the dining room.  Escorting her in, he
added, "It came furnished.  I mostly stay in the
study."  She let him seat her at the table; as
if he sensed her need for a bit of space, he sat
in the chair directly opposite, looking away
from her briefly to wince at the massive table
that easily could seat thirty.  Leaning forward,
he whispered, "This is really not my style, you
know."

At that, she had to chuckle.  On one hand, he
looked so out of place in this luxurious
mansion; on the other, it seemed he fit right
in.  Mulder, for all his sloppy living habits,
carried himself with a grace instilled by years
of New England pride.  Even at his most
disheveled, he couldn't hide the fact he was
born into an elite society.

"Don't tell me you haven't skated that polished
floor in your socks, because I won't believe
it."

He smiled, lowering his voice as a door opened
in the corner of the room.  "Marvin hates when I
do that.  Says I'm gonna break my neck one day. 
I happen to think I'm way better at it than Tom
Cruise ever was."  He cleared his throat and sat
straight at his friend's approach.

He was way better than Tom Cruise at a lot of
things, she thought, fitting her back to the
tall chair as Marvin came closer.

"Tom Cruise has the freedom to seek medical
attention," Marvin said, rolling the serving
tray to a halt at the end of the table.  "*You*
don't."

Instead of giving in to the gentle reminder of
his circumstances, Mulder drew his brows
together in a mock frown.  "Spoilsport."  To
Scully, he lifted the corner of his mouth. 
"Tell him, Scully.  I've survived far worse than
a sore ass."  He took the bowl of gumbo from
Marvin, who passed it along with a skeptical
glare.

Scully took her lunch from Marvin with a dry,
"Only because I was there to patch him back up
and send him on his paranormal way."

They could almost be back to normal, she
realized.  Bantering like the partners who'd
gone through hell many times; living to tell
their horrible tales with a touch of relieved
humor.  She wished it could last forever, this
relaxed lunch.  Mulder seemed to be making a
concerted effort to keep it light for now, and
she embraced it as a chance to regain her
equilibrium.  It didn't promise to last for
long, however, and she wasn't finished
swallowing her first bite when he eased into the
fray.

"So..." he began, soon after Marvin had melted
back into the woodwork.  "You're undercover. 
Skinner sent you down here, didn't he?  For
what?"

So much for easing into the fray.

"I volunteered." She didn't hesitate to point
out that important detail, as she pulled at the
French bread that sat on the table between them. 
She couldn't get a bite free, and Mulder grabbed
the other end, pulling as well.  It broke in two
easily, and she met his slightly combative gaze
for a split second before turning her attention
back to the bowl in front of her.

"You volunteered." Underlying the calm statement
was a current of reprimand, but she knew Mulder
wouldn't pursue it just yet.  He'd done far
worse, and he knew better than to get into a
battle between pot and kettle.  "You gonna tell
me what exactly you volunteered for?"

Sighing, Scully put her spoon down, preparing
for a lengthy explanation.

"A couple of months ago, Skinner came by some
information."

Mulder pounced before she could draw another
breath.  "What kind of information?"

"There's a new Consortium forming, apparently."

At her soft declaration, Mulder put away his
utensils as well, bringing his hand up to rub at
his bearded face.  "Strughold."

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that he
kept tabs on what remained of the Old Guard,
what with his unlimited resources.  But she had
to ask, anyway.  "How did you know about -"

"I knew the moment he arrived in New Orleans,
Scully.  I know he's parading around town,
making the circuit.  The official line has him
angling for a seat on the Port Commission."

This she knew already, as well as the influence
and power Strughold stood to gain if he won that
seat.  What she didn't know, she doubted even
Mulder could tell her - why Strughold wanted
that seat.  The man was a multi-billionaire
whose fingers dipped into everything from steel
to coffee.  Of what use could he have for a
voting seat on the New Orleans Port Commission? 
A man like that had enough money to buy any
vote, anywhere.  It made her head ache, the one
missing piece of information she knew would tie
everything together.

Scully saw the same look of consternation cross
Mulder's face.  His thinking, as always,
paralleled hers, albeit from a slightly
different angle.  "He's not here to ease the
tariffs on steel, Scully.  You know it as well
as I do."

She nodded, dispensing the only other lead she
had with precise detail.  "Skinner was told that
the Consortium is re-grouping in and around New
Orleans.  He was given a list of names - parties
of interest, his informant said."

"His informant?  Just who the hell is his
informant?"  The old paranoia resurfaced in an
instant, and it was with some dread that she
told him.

"Kersh.  Or so I suspect.  My assignment is
known only to Skinner and Kersh - who, by the
way, prefers to stay way out of the loop on this
one."

"Kersh?" Mulder snorted, reaching for his glass
of water.  "Scully, you know better than to
trust Kersh."

"I don't trust anyone, Mulder."

Left unspoken was the implication that she
didn't know if she could even trust him anymore. 
His confidence flagged before her eyes as he
picked up on her meaning, but he didn't address
it, carefully putting his glass back on the
table.  "Then why are you doing this?  Skinner
could have gotten any number of agents to poke
around Strughold.  Hell, Doggett has an axe or
two to grind against our old friends - he'd have
taken the job in a heartbeat."

"Agent Doggett has his own caseload to worry
about.  I got tired of Quantico.  Besides, there
is no one as qualified as me to work this
operation, and you know it."  His eyes narrowed,
and she knew what was coming before he said it,
cursing herself for presenting him the
opportunity in the first place.  In an effort to
nip his crazy thinking in the bud, she sighed,
"No, Mulder."

"Yes, Scully."

"Mulder -"

"I can move just as easily - or with just as
much difficulty, as the case may be - in this
town as you can," he pointed out.  "Neither of
us dare to show our true faces.  We live behind
masks; what better way to work than in the
middle of Mardi Gras?"

Watching him sink his teeth into the idea like a
dog on a bone created a trickle of familiar
warmth in her chest.  However, she dismissed it
as soon as it had come, anger replacing the
slide into almost conciliation.  This was so
like him; rushing into dangerous territory
without thought to his safety.  That he'd run
from it months ago hadn't occurred to him yet. 
Really, what was the difference?  He could
posture and huff all he wanted about his
abandonment ensuring her return to a more normal
life, but still, he'd taken the easy way out. 
For the first time since she'd known him, he'd
copped out.  A tactical retreat, to be sure. 
But one undertaken without her consult, when she
thought they'd finally reached the point in
their relationship where decisions were mutual
and lives were intertwined fully.

He'd left her.  Just like Oregon.  Just like
that snow-covered grave in Massachusetts.  Just
like New Orleans, after that first time.

Scully stood, pushing her chair from the table
as she dropped her napkin.  "Then I guess we
have nothing left to discuss," she said, her
cool decision made for the both of them, a
mirror to his fateful judgment that led them to
this point.  She wasn't letting him put himself
in the line of fire this time.

As she turned to leave, Mulder's words sliced
across the room.  "What is this, Scully? 
Payback?"

The hurt, the muted censure in his voice halted
her footsteps, and she wanted nothing more than
to lash back and scream at him that yes, she
wanted to hurt him as he'd done her.  But that
tactic would only lead to more dissension,
something neither of them needed at this
critical junction in their relationship. *If*
they still had a relationship.

She was being obstinate, she knew.  Her senses
reeling from the unexpected meeting with him,
she was uncharacteristically terse and distant,
when the goal she'd set out with was glimmering
on the horizon.  Sighing, hands in pockets, she
turned with a wary, conciliatory look.

"I'm not being very communicative, Mulder, and
I'm sorry."  The stark paleness of his face
tugged at her heartstrings, and she hastened to
clarify her position before he could say
anything else.  "It's just that I'm doing this
because... I don't think I can do it any other
way.  And if something were to happen -" She
broke off, lowering her chin at the unwanted
sting of tears.  As she heard him approach, she
half-turned, her hands leaving her pockets to
form a protective wall of arms around her waist. 
"No.  Don't."

His voice, small and unsure, wavered from beyond
her shoulder.  "I know I've done things, Scully. 
Things to hurt you.  But I only did them to keep
you safe.  I'm working on the same thing you are
-"

"Are you?"

He fell silent at the soft question, still as a
stifling summer day.  She felt him work to
answer her, his eyes searching her profile for
another truth, one she knew he most wanted to
hear.  Little white lies came easily to her, as
they did to most people.  A simple omission of
fact, like the time she'd told Mulder she'd
never hit a baseball.  The difference between a
'yes' and a 'no', in that case, meant the
difference between feeling every inch of his
body plastered to her back or standing alone out
in the cold.

Outright lies, on the other hand, were most
uncomfortable.  She knew Mulder thought all her
instances of "I'm fine" over the years were
lies, but they weren't; every time she'd ever
said those words, she believed them.  The only
instance she could recall where she'd actually
told him a lie was when she'd taken her little
trip with Spender.  For Mulder's own good, she
could lie with the best of them.  Just as she
would now.  Mulder's reaction could go either
way - laughing denial or absorption of the lie
into another layer of his never-ending guilt.

This was her chance; using every ounce of
courage, every line of defense in her posture
and voice, she faced him.  It wasn't a lie, so
much as an omission of his importance to her.
"My goal is to get my son back, Mulder."

Her words did the trick; Mulder took a step
back, his face pale.  Scully knew he'd assumed
she was doing this for William *and* him.  Her
definite exclusion of Mulder in the equation
reeled him.  Sorrow at the way she had to hurt
him made her bite her lip over any further
explanation; she looked away, waiting for his
response, praying he'd been staggered enough to
just let her walk away.

"I see."

There was nothing else to say; Scully knew she'd
made her point - albeit an arrow she never
wanted to shoot into his heart.  He would let
her go now.  At least, temporarily.  Like an
opponent faced with a new weapon, he would
retreat to fight another day, with a new tactic
of offense.  She had to get out of here before
his brilliant mind righted itself and he decided
to argue.

As her hand dropped to the door knob, she heard
him say, "Let me help you, Scully."

Too late.  He'd weighed her words and bounced
back in an instant.  His determination brought a
grimace to her face, one she quickly killed as
she said without a trace of emotion, "I don't
need your help, Mulder."  Turning the doorknob,
she sought freedom.

She had barely finished the off-putting
statement when she felt heat at her back, one
large but delicately-boned hand coming up to
slam the door shut.  Her lips caught in a gasp
as another hand came up, effectively trapping
her against the door.

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" he whispered.

Anguish squeezed her heart and her eyes closed
against the memories.  Back then, despite her
weak protestations, he offered her release. 
With his body, with all the love she saw shining
in his dark eyes.  That he had that same look
now, she had no doubt.  His whole stance behind
her, encroaching with his solid, warm body and
husky words, spoke of his unwillingness to let
her set aside the bond they shared.  Reinforcing
his determination, he leaned closer, his breath
tickling her chin.

"I once told you I'd do anything for you,
Scully.  That still stands."

Another untruth spilled from her lips.  "All I
want is to leave.  Please, Mulder... let me go."

The seconds stretched between them as the silent
war of wills raged.  Scully knew that all he had
to do was touch her, turn her in his arms, and
she would be lost.  She stood still, praying for
the strength to resist his advance.  She was a
moment away from giving in when she felt a small
sigh ruffle the hair at her ear.

"This is not over, Scully.  Believe me."

Despair at the sincerity of his words made her
voice tremble.  "Mulder, don't do this."

"I can do what I damn well want," he insisted,
his breath hot on her face.  "I don't care
anymore, don't you see?  I want my freedom back. 
I want my son, just like you do.  I want -"

"I know what you want."  She stopped him before
his sure declaration of love and need, one she
knew would devastate her and sap every ounce of
logic and courage from her body.  She knew he
was approaching the problem from a different
angle, but his goal was the same.  It was the
other baggage, the personal and emotional
issues, that would have to wait.  "But don't you
see that I can't deal with that right now?  If
I'm to succeed, Mulder, I have to know you'll be
out of harm's way."

"And you have to know I can't just sit here and
wait," he ground out, his hand coming up to lift
her chin, turning her to face him despite her
rigid stance.  His eyes narrowed, pinpointing
the scrape on her forehead she thought she'd
successfully concealed.  "Look at your face."

"It's just a scratch," she replied, jerking away
as she avoided eyes that had the power to bring
her to her knees.  "Nothing."

"Nothing, huh?"  Exasperation and concern
radiated from him.  "What if it hadn't been me
who'd tripped you up in that hall?"

"I made it out okay."  Why she was standing
there, justifying herself to him, was beyond
her.  She should just run away as fast as she
could, before she ended up with a bigger problem
than sneaking into the homes of the rich and
famous... and deadly.

"You need me, Scully."  Shaky with emotion, his
voice tugged at her heart.  "You can't ask me to
sit here while you go this alone."

"Yes, I can.  You have no choice in the matter." 
Hand wrapped around the doorknob, she gave it a
quick twist.  Another second, and she'd be out
of there and back on her way to sanity.

"I'll just follow you."

His firm statement stilled her flight.  Eyes
shut with frustration, she sighed, "I wish you
wouldn't."

"I've had enough of hiding, Scully.  We're on to
something here, I know it.  Don't ask me to keep
my distance.  I can't.  I won't."

Looking into his determined face at last, she
felt the beginnings of capitulation stir in her
mind.  He would get his way, as always.  Whether
on his own, or protected by the one person he
trusted to watch his back.  Her.  He was on the
verge of exploding with the furious need to be
free; it was written in the tight line of his
shoulders, the clenched fists that shook at his
sides.  With or without her, he was going to get
into trouble, she knew.

The decision was made.

What Robert was going to say about it, she could
guess.  And it wasn't going to be particularly
nice, either.  She only hoped she wouldn't have
to tell him to fuck off.  But if it came to it,
she would.  Even Skinner himself couldn't
dissuade her, once she'd made up her mind.

With a sigh, she murmured, "Well, it seems I
have myself a partner."

Mulder's eyes lit up.  "Scully, I -"

"But on my terms." She held up a firm hand,
stilling his excited surge forward.

Relaxing, he nodded, his hands slipping into his
jeans pockets.  "Okay." With a small lift of his
chin toward the table, he added, "Can we finish
lunch while we talk?  To tell you the truth, I'm
starving."

To her discerning eye, he looked as if he hadn't
had a decent meal in months.  He was just as
muscular and lithe as always, but now there was
a honed, lean look about him.  A hunter who ate
only when the need for sustenance overcame the
need for the chase.  She suspected he'd been
living much as she had these past months. 
Spending all his free time searching, not
bothering with anything personal but keeping the
body fit for the ultimate battle.  A flash of
sweet concern threatened to consume her at the
sight of his obvious loneliness.  It matched
hers in length and breadth, and she ached for
the days of Chinese takeout and the mutant of
the week.  But this was infinitely more serious,
the most important case of their lives.  Success
meant living; victory meant loving, without any
more fear.

The rumble of her stomach in the silence between
them made her chuckle.  "Seems I'm hungry as
well," she said, admitting her earlier statement
about a late breakfast was an untruth.  Looking
beyond Mulder's grinning face, she said with
regret, "But I think the gumbo is cold."

"I'll send Marvin out for a pizza."  Before she
could stop him, he was already out the dining
room door, shouting his friend's name.

Scully listened to the exchange in the hall with
a rueful smile, hoping she'd made the right
choice.

"A pizza?" Marvin's voice was incredulous.  "My
God, man - you have all manner of delicacies at
your disposal and you want pizza?"

"Just do it, Marvin.  Scully likes pizza."

Actually, Scully only tolerated pizza.  But she
loved the company that came with it.


**********


He would have gotten down on his knees, if
necessary.  Would have thrown away every shred
of pride and honor just to keep her with him for
another minute.  For someone who'd seen him at
his worst, had managed to pull every bit of
emotion from him possible, she had no clue just
how far he would go for her.  Even the disaster
in New Orleans years ago, when he'd felt his
soul crumble to dust from the need to just tell
her how he felt... God, it was the hardest thing
he'd ever had to do, to walk out of that hotel
room in the pre-dawn, just to give her the space
she needed.

There was so much unsaid between them, so much
they needed to resolve.  Even after all these
years, they still tip-toed around each other
like they were dancing through a minefield.  His
death, William, their living apart - all
potential blowups that awaited just a hair
trigger away.  For now, though, this would have
to be enough.  Much as he wanted to break
through her re-fortified defenses, he knew it
best to meet her on the field of play as a
partner.  The rest?  Well, no matter what her
rules, he was a master at subtle encroachment.

Watching her finish her second piece of pizza,
he let his lips curl into a small grin.  She'd
give him hell, all right.  But they'd both win
in the end.

"What?" She wiped a bit of tomato sauce from her
chin with a pristine napkin, as she eyed him
warily from across the table.  One hand went up
to touch her scraped forehead in an unconscious
gesture of nervous energy; in the time it had
taken for the pizza to arrive, she'd avoided
him, telling him she needed a break.  At his
eagerness to accompany her, she'd waved him off,
saying she wanted to take a walk about the
veranda.  He knew it was a respite for her, a
way to fortify herself once again.  He'd watched
through the windows as he always did, for once
enjoying the view.

Startled that she'd caught him staring, he
dropped his chin.  "Nothing." I just want to
jump your bones right here on this mahogany
monstrosity, he added silently.  But that wasn't
to be.  Not yet, anyway.  Composing himself, he
addressed her once again.  "Good pizza?"

Every step she'd taken among the burgeoning
green background of the immaculate lawn, he
lapped up with his gaze like a salivating puppy. 
Memorizing her moves once again, feeling himself
ache with the need to entrap that small, lithe
form in his arms.  Who needed food, when one had
such a bundle of smart, infuriating sexuality to
entice and satisfy any pangs of hunger?

If possible, she was more beautiful than ever. 
A bit on the thin side, which gave her face a
wistful, angelic quality, especially framed as
it was by her still longish hair.  Her delicate
looks inspired protection in him like they'd
never had before.  But it wasn't the need to
protect that clamored within him at the sight of
her red lips and firm, unyielding cheeks.  He
shifted in his chair, tamping down the urge to
reach over and kiss her solemn face into a
smile.

She'd surely punch him in the jaw if she knew
what he was thinking.

"Not bad." She took a sip of wine; he noticed
she was being very careful about the amount she
consumed.  Always in control, that was Scully. 
Placing her napkin on the table, she sat up
straight, her hands folded on the table like a
cool negotiator.  "Ready to hear what I have to
say?"

Mulder shoved his plate away, chuckling inwardly
at the way she took command.  In other times,
he'd lounged back, let her comment, then pressed
forward with a rebuttal, his nonchalance a ploy
he'd used before with success.  She expected it,
had become accustomed to his cat-and-mouse
tactics; his subtle ways drew her into the game
of wits time and again, with the goal of opening
her mind to infinite possibilities.

He faced her as she did him, mirroring her
battle-ready pose, telling himself he really
should try to affect a serious mien.  But the
familiar was too irresistible; he knew the words
had the chance to piss her off, but he risked it
anyway, drawling, "Bring it on, honey."

Scully lifted one brow in warning, but didn't
take issue with his comeback.  Instead, he saw
her mouth pucker as she began, her cool voice
betraying nothing.  "Rule number one - I'm in
charge.  You no longer work for the Bureau,
Mulder."

Head tilted to one side, he asked in a mock,
horrified tone, "I don't?"

Ignoring him, she continued, "Rule number two -
you flout rule number one, and I'm gone.  Got
it?"

"Flout?  Is that even a word?"

"Rule number three - "

"All right, I get it," he interrupted, miffed at
the way she was barking out demands like a drill
sergeant.  "What Scully says goes.  End of
discussion."  A smile of satisfaction dawned on
her face, one he immediately attacked.  "But
I've got a few rules of my own." 

"Like what?  Excuse me, Mulder, but I don't see
where you have any room to make rules."

"That's where you're wrong, Scully."

"How so?"

"I told you before - you ditch me, and I'll just
follow.  My only rule?  That you don't run away
from me anymore."

In everything, he added silently.  Scully missed
the unspoken codicil, mainly because in an
instant, she'd gone from calm and collected to
royally pissed.  He braced himself for the
acidic reply, could see it coming from her tight
lips.

"You're a fine one to put restrictions on me,
Mulder.  I thought that you'd never leave me
again.  God, was I wrong."

He deserved her antagonism, but he had to make
her understand that he no longer wanted to leave
her.  Pretty words and declarations of love
wouldn't cut it, either.  They'd long since
passed the point of such trivialities. 
Appealing to her rational side was the only way
to go.

"Like you've never run from me?"  He wiped his
face clean of all emotion, though his insides
swirled with anxiety at the chance he was
taking.  "What's in the past has no bearing on
this discussion, Scully.  We're talking about
working together.  This is our chance to end the
conspiracy once and for all.  And if we're to
succeed, we have to treat each other with
respect.  To be open and honest, to watch each
other's backs."

It was such a line of bullshit, and he knew it. 
Not that it wasn't true, every word of it; but
it was just a small portion of what he felt,
what he wanted to say and do to her.  However,
in order to reach the woman within, he had to
deal with the agent first.  Hell, he'd done it
before, though it had taken years.  He hoped he
wouldn't have to wait another seven years this
time.  Something told him he wouldn't - Scully
was still sexually attracted to him, if nothing
else.  He felt it from the moment she walked in
his study, saw it behind the anger in her eyes.

He had to prove his trustworthiness once again;
if he could do that, he'd have her back.  The
old, familiar greed resurfaced without
obstruction.  Though he'd had it all for a few
short months before his abduction, he'd not had
perfection.  The end of the alien threat, the
return of his son, the peace to live freely -
these were the missing pieces of his life.  Most
of all, he wanted Scully.  This time, nothing
would stop him from winning.

He saw her absorb his statement, saw the moment
she let go of her anger to embrace the pull of
his professionalism.  "We work as partners,
nothing more," she murmured.  "And I come and go
as I please."

Mild shock clenched his gut.  On the surface,
she remained still as glass, composed and cool
to the disrupting touches he threw like pebbles
with his eyes.  But below, he could see her
agitation.  In the catch of her lower lip with
her teeth, in the way she clutched her jacket
closer to her body, her hands slightly shaking.

She was afraid.  Up to this point, he hadn't
sensed any hint of fear within her.  But he'd
lay his last dollar on it.  And it wasn't fear
of him, or of herself.

It was fear of them, he realized.  Together. 
Was she so scarred by the endless round of unity
followed by separation that she'd finally pulled
away from him emotionally?  It was possible.  In
fact, it was highly probable.  Scully had always
played it close to the vest, as far as their
relationship was concerned.  What better way to
protect herself from hurt than to keep him at a
personal distance?

Bitter regret rose in his throat; he'd assumed
she would be angry at his leaving.  He never
dreamed his abandonment would, in effect, be the
straw that broke the camel's back.  He'd seen
her rise above so much turmoil in her life, so
much strife.  And though she claimed to be
pursuing this operation with eventual freedom in
mind, it didn't mean that freedom would include
a life with her and their son.

One step at a time, he told himself.  Make her
happy with whatever it takes.  The rest will
come; and if it never does, then so be it.

Reaching a hand across the table, he offered
truce, squashing his hopes for reconciliation to
the far edges of his mind.

"Partners."  The touch of her palm to his was a
welcome balm.  His lips softened into a small
smile at the contact, and he rubbed his thumb
over the back of her hand, lifting his gaze to
hers.  He had to make his position clear,
despite her trepidation.  He would keep his
distance, but not give up the fight.  "Until you
say otherwise," he amended quietly.  He made no
promises about letting her 'come and go as she
pleased', and he waited for her to pick up on
his omission.

But she didn't; his touch seemed to rattle her. 
For a second, he thought she would snatch her
hand back, depriving him of even the most brief
communion of bodies.  Instead, her reply set up
an ache in his soul far worse than any physical
rejection had the power to do.

Her fingers tightened around his as if for the
last time.  "That's just it, Mulder.  I may
never say otherwise."  With a sigh, she slipped
her hand from his and shifted in her chair to
face the window.

Her despair was palpable, and he found he
couldn't stand to look upon her sorrowful face. 
Standing, he waved a hand at the door.

"Let's have some coffee in the study, okay?" His
voice was hoarse with unshed tears, and he
coughed to clear it before continuing, "You can
fill me in on what you have so far.  Like why
you were sneaking around Balfour's."

"I'll know more in a couple of days." She stood
as well, walking to the door.

"A couple of days?" He was pushing his luck, but
he sensed she had something coming up besides a
simple flow of information.  Her stance was
defensive, and she had trouble meeting his eyes. 
"Another clandestine turn in the Catwoman suit?"

Her reticence to face him was short-lived.  With
an ice blue pierce of her eyes, she said softly,
"I come and go as I please, Mulder."  He should
have known she wouldn't let that important rule
slip by without comment.  "And right now, I have
to get back to the hotel."

It was an innocent comment, totally lacking in
emotional undertone.  But he recognized the
signs - after all, he'd seen them before.

She slipped through the door; he heard her call
out to Marvin.  When his friend poked his nose
in the dining room with a questioning raise of
his brow, Mulder nodded, giving his silent
permission for Marvin to take her away.  Not
that it would have mattered if he'd objected;
Scully was stubborn enough to walk back to New
Orleans, his feelings on the matter be damned.

From the window, he watched the limousine pull
around, the last rays of the sun casting it in
an eerie orange glow.  She walked to the car on
stiff legs, as if she wanted to flee as fast as
she could.  But pride prevented a show of haste,
or a hint of fear.  Again, he knew it for what
it was.  

Running was running, no matter how far.  Or how
agonizingly close.



End Chapter Six